


in letters deeply worn

by honey_butter



Series: the chronicles of cathilda the small [2]
Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Older Characters, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fabian is a little sad about the changes that are happening, figayda also show up, just a dash of angst too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_butter/pseuds/honey_butter
Summary: “Baba was just indulging me, we didn’t actually mean it.”Riz had rubbed his hands over Fabian’s scalp and let him talk and talk and talk about running away with him and Cathilda to live on the high seas, exploring and living a life of adventure and, most importantly, avoiding Monday.Five years after acquiring a baby from a duel, Cathilda the Small is starting school, Fabian isn't quite ready to let her go yet, and Riz is using his stealth bonus to hide in cabinets.
Relationships: Fabian Aramais Seacaster & Original Child Character(s), Riz Gukgak & Original Child Character(s), Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster
Series: the chronicles of cathilda the small [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120820
Comments: 20
Kudos: 111





	in letters deeply worn

**Author's Note:**

> okay so!! the first fic in this series had _such_ a nice reception oh my gosh you guys, thank you!! this one does have a slightly different tone from the first, and focuses more on kid shenanigans so if that isn't your jam i totally get it. also! i decided to include my hoh fabian headcanon in this kid au and the aramais seacaster gukgak household speaks asl, i mostly just write the asl as dialogue using english grammar.
> 
> thank you to grace @/audiodramatist for letting me bully you into beta-ing, des @/collectoroflovelythings for listening to me talk, and sofi @/capybart for coming up with almost all of the bits in this fic and adding so much depth and humor to this au. seriously, you guys are a big help and it makes me so happy to talk to you about this!!
> 
> title is from fair by the amazing devils.
> 
> p.s. i am white, and wrote a bit about fabian braiding cathilda's natural hair. i did research but if there are any inaccuracies or just things i didn't handle well please please let me know.

“Ow, Dada, you’re pulling too hard,” Cathilda whines, little legs kicking in the air.

Fabian makes a sound of apology through the hair pick in his mouth, and stops sectioning off her hair quite so roughly. Any amount of pulling seems to be too much lately, even when he’s just untangling with his fingers. He’s debating whether or not to give in and pay for a salon, but… this has always been their thing, him and Cathilda, and he doesn’t want to give that up. Especially not now.

“I don’t get why I have to look pretty. It’s just a normal Sunday,” she says, head lolling to the side and forcing Fabian to tip it back before he continues.

He pulls the hair pick from his mouth and pushes it into her hair, working more styling oil into it as he goes, “You always look pretty, my flower.”

They’d braided half of her hair yesterday, because neither Fabian nor Cathilda have the patience to sit in a chair for three hours all in one go. That does mean, though, that he has to go back in and work out all of the little tangles in the undone half she’d managed to get by just existing as a five year old for a day and a night.

“Oh.” Her kicking stops. “So why do I have to look extra pretty?” And starts again, gosh darnit.

“You have school tomorrow, little nut, didn’t you tell Baba you wanted me to do your hair?”

“Oh. Yeah. I thought we’d decided I wasn’t going to school.”

Fabian splutters, fingers catching in a particularly nasty tangle, “When did we decide that?”

“Last night. I overheard you and Baba talking.”

Internally, Fabian curses his rogue husband for teaching their daughter all of his weird, stealthy-ways. Usually, he and Riz make sure to talk about Cathilda-adjacent things when she has absolutely no possibility of sneaking up on them. Last night, he’d _thought_ she’d been sound asleep when he’d collapsed into Riz’s chest, whining about why his baby had to grow up. Apparently, though, she’s been picking up some of Fabian’s deception proficiencies too.

“Baba was just indulging me, we didn’t actually mean it.”

Riz had rubbed his hands over Fabian’s scalp and let him talk and talk and talk about running away with him and Cathilda to live on the high seas, exploring and living a life of adventure and, most importantly, avoiding Monday. That had just been talk, though. Even though Fabian’s heart felt like it might beat out of his chest whenever he thought about Cathilda going away—not to one of their families’ houses but to kindergarten—he wouldn’t ever leave Elmville. Not again. Mostly because he knows Riz wouldn’t, and if Riz wouldn’t then Cathilda wouldn’t, and he can’t imagine leaving either one of them behind.

But Riz had let him talk, rubbing some of the tension from his shoulders with small hands, and when he’d run out of things to say, dreams to spin, Riz had tipped his chin up and kissed him. Slowly. Comfortingly. Fabian… well, Fabian’s been married to him for two years now and he still isn’t quite over getting kissed by Riz Gukgak.

“That’s weird. Baba says not to say what you don’t mean.”

Another thing about Cathilda, she loves double negatives. And triple negatives. And quadruple negatives. Fabian blames it on spending too much time around Ayda and Adaine; who each use precise language but love wordplay, and he’s pretty sure one of them must have taught her how to speak like this. It definitely wasn’t him, just listening to her when she gets on a “no, not, neither” roll hurts his head a little.

“Well, your Baba’s always right, isn’t he?”

“I just told you, don’t say what you don’t mean!”

Fabian tugs on the ends of her hair, gently, never to hurt, “You, young lady, have been spending too much time with Aunt Kristen.”

Cathilda whines, “Drigka always gets to be with her more. It isn’t fair.”

“Drigka’s twelve, Cathilda.”

“Does being twelve mean I’ll get to spend more time with Auntie?”

“...Yes.”

“Wow, I can’t wait until I’m twelve.”

“What’re you telling our daughter?” Riz slides into the room, steaming “#1 Dad Ball” mug in hand.

“Things he doesn’t mean!” Cathilda crows, the little traitor.

“Oh, really?” Riz walks further towards them, pressing a kiss to Fabian’s head, which is at easily accessible Riz-level because he’s sitting down and Riz isn’t.

“She’s putting words in my mouth,” Fabian says, beginning to twist his first braid of the day.

“I’m not! I’m not! No words are going in your mouth!”

Riz and Fabian laugh at that, which causes Cathilda to giggle confusedly. And, of course, her little giggles turn into big, full body laughs and Fabian has to stop braiding until they all calm down.

Riz moves to sit on the vanity table in front of them— which is functionally more for Fabian than Cathilda, who’s room it’s in. “You’re looking all grown up, Miss Cathilda.”

“Do you see my braids, Baba? Baba? Baba?” Along with saying his name each time, Cathilda makes Riz’s name sign: two cupped hands facing each other, moving together and apart and back again, for ‘Ball.’

“Yes, I do, Cathilda, Cathilda, Cathilda.” Riz copies her signing, making Cathilda’s name sign: the letter ‘c’ followed by two fingers held close together for ‘tiny.’

Fabian had insisted, really, on teaching her sign language. The other bad kids knew some from their many years of friendship, but it wasn’t the same as _really_ knowing it. And he’d realized, about a week into having her, that he wanted that bond with her, that shared language. Riz had learned, too. Just like with all things, he’d been eager; asking for new signs over breakfast, or while they were out shopping, or when they spent a lazy morning in bed. Fabian had doubted if he could ever love anyone more. And then he, well, he raised Cathilda.

“They’re gonna match Dada’s,” she says, grinning, previous complaints about school forgotten. For now. Fabian can tell she’s probably just biding her time.

Fabian looks up from his braiding for a moment to see Riz’s eyes melt, “Whatever am I going to do with you two beautiful lovelies?” And oh, he’s _definitely_ been talking to Cathilda the Black, because that endearment just about teleports Fabian back to his formative years, when he was the one sitting in the chair getting his hair braided.

“Kisses!” Cathilda insists, signing “Kiss,” as well.

“Well, if you insist,” Riz jumps off the vanity again and ducks down to press a kiss to Cathilda’s forehead before leaning over her head and planting one on Fabian’s lips.

Fabian’s heart leaps into his throat and he subconsciously leans forward, chasing after Riz once he pulls away.

“Ewghies,” Cathilda grumbles, and Riz just chuckles.

“I came in to tell you guys I’m going to a quick interview, I should be back before lunch.”

“Do you have to go?” Cathilda asks, bouncing a little in her chair and making Fabian push her shoulders down placatingly.

“How about I pick you up a strawberry milkshake on the way home?” Riz responds. “Also, this is your’s and Dada’s time. I’d just get in the way.”

“Please, The Ball, you could not possibly get in the way,” Fabian says, beginning to braid again once Cathilda settles down. “We already have so many inside jokes you won’t even be able to join the conversation.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I’m not going to tell you any because then they wouldn’t be inside anymore. And mint chip ice cream for me, please.”

“Fine, fine. And you, is a strawberry milkshake okay?” Riz rolls his eyes at Fabian before turning back to Cathilda, poking her gently in the cheek.

She bats his hand away, “With whipped cream and three cherries, please.”

“Well, she said please,” Riz smiles and picks up his mug again, downing about half of it in one go.

“Be safe, The Ball,” Fabian says.

“It’s just a quick interview then ice cream, Fabian. Not exactly life threatening.” All the same, Riz presses yet another kiss into the crowns of each of their heads, “Love you.” Thumb out, forefinger and pinky finger raised.

Cathilda just signs it back, legs already kicking excitedly. Fabian, hands full of hair, says, “I love you, too,” and continues to braid as Riz leaves them.

They still aren’t done by the time Riz returns, and the ice cream gets left to melt on the counter into soupy puddles that Fabian has to prestidigitate back into frozen deliciousness. It’s yet another thing Fabian had never gotten to do with his father, or his mother for that matter. The few memories of his early childhood were of Cathilda wiping his eyes after he skinned his knee, of kippers and being redirected out of rooms where Hallariel sipped from wine glasses the size of her head, of a few larger than life adventures with his Papa that were mostly characterized by the sting of salt in his eyes. Fabian knows that he had a happy childhood, a lucky childhood, but he also didn’t have this; sunny, easy mornings braiding hair and eating ice cream for lunch. He figures, because of that, he must be doing _something_ right by Cathilda, even if he’s giving her an incurable sweet tooth.

After lunch, Riz begins a game of hide and seek, an extreme sport in the Aramais Seacaster Gukgak household. Fabian, long since barred from playing because of how easily he gets found, sets up camp on the couch with Fantasy HGTV playing and the mind numbing Crown of Candia three-in-a-row game pulled up on his phone. Both are muted, however, because if there’s _any_ amount of background noise the game lasts four additional hours, at least.

About twenty minutes later, he notices the first giggling shape dart past in his field of vision, the green shade of the blur signifying it as his husband instead of his daughter. They’re almost getting to the same height already, something Riz is _not_ happy about but Fabian finds endlessly endearing, and if Cathilda decides to wear green on a certain day it’s almost impossible for him to differentiate between the two when they’re stealthing.

“He went that way,” he calls out to his silent house, pointing in the direction Riz had rolled off in.

A flash of dark braids catches in his periphery and he smirks. He’s gonna get an earful about interfering with the game later, but right now his main goal is to help even the playing field between a level twenty-something rogue and a five year old who doesn’t even have a class yet.

The boredom sets in after an hour, so he turns the TV off and pulls out his practice dummy and mat. Just because he isn’t adventuring officially anymore doesn’t mean he’ll let his fighting skills drop, and it’s good practice if he ever ends up challenging one of the other moms at Cathilda’s dance studio to a duel. _Looking at you, Brenda._

Plus, there are the, well, hordes upon hordes of enemies he managed to make over all of his years adventuring—both with the Bad Kids and on his own. Before Cathilda, it was more dangerous. Before Cathilda, Fabian would sometimes get a letter in Riz’s scribbled, nearly illegible handwriting complaining about how he couldn’t get blood out of the fridge, and Fabian had to be more careful giving out his home address, and _I’m paying for this with your money. It’s gross, Fabian. I mean, seriously? You just had to piss off a beholder. I don’t even know how it_ got _here._

Riz has his enemies too, of course, and then there’s the fact that they’re both more than slightly famous, in Solace and out, so Fabian keeps up his fighting skills. 

It’s better, usually, to pull out those excuses than to give the actual, honest reason behind why he still trains for hours every other day: He misses it. Misses the danger, misses the thrill of barely dodging a blade, the confidence it takes to attack with his sheet. He could always go back, his adventuring connections have been bugging him for five years now to return to the field, but he knows he’d miss Cathilda more. He doesn’t want to be like his parents; absent and distant and, while certainly not cold towards him, not really _his._ He doesn’t want to be the reason that Cathilda hurts like he did as a teenager and young adult, he doesn’t want Cathilda to hurt at all. And life is full of compromises. Fabian has always been good at knowing what he wants, and recently he’s gotten better about actually choosing it.

His body falls into the familiar motions of practice—swipe, jab, dodge, sweep. It calms his mind, quiets the roaring of worry, and focuses all of that fear, all of that uncertainty at the small, beat-up dummy. 

He has to take his hearing aids out to practice, he gets too sweaty and sweaty magical hearing aids are still sweaty hearing aids, so he doesn’t hear the knocking at the door until Riz darts up behind him and whacks him impatiently on the shoulder.

“Hey, Fabian,” he hisses, tail twitching anxiously and ears pressed against the sides of his head.

“Hm, The Ball?”

“Someone’s at the door.”

“What was that?” Fabian points to his ears.

“Someone’s at the door!” Riz is signing now, instead of talking. “Also, what you did, with the ratting on me earlier? Not cool, man. I— Wait. Shit. I mean shoot. I’ve got to go.”

High pitched giggling—so high pitched it’s above the dip in his hearing—starts to grow closer and Riz barrel rolls away, losing himself amid the cabinets of their kitchen.

Fabian sighs, wipes some of the sweat from his brow, grabs his hearing aids, and opens the apartment door.

A small, dark skinned girl with flaming hair and the beginning nubs of horns grins up at him devilishly, one foot already worming its way into the door jam. “Hi, Fabian!”

Fabian tugs on a braid. _Just for the record, today is not babysitting duty._ “Hey, Oriane. Are your moms around?”

“Nope!” Her grin widens. “I ran away!”

“Ah.” He doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this. “And you… came here?”

“Yep! I figured, since me and Cath. No. Cath and I. Yeah. Cath and I are going to school tomorrow anyway, I can just go with you guys.”

“Er. Okay… Come inside? Do you want some apple juice?”

As soon as he moves enough to provide a space in the doorframe, Oriane slips through, tripping slightly over her growing talons, and bounds directly to the kitchen.

“Are Cath and Riz home?” She asks, trying with all of her little five year old might to get their fridge open.

Fabian steps around her and opens the door with one hand, “Yeah. They’re playing hide and seek.”

“Can I play, too?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.” Fabian’s trying to play it cool, he really is, but he’s also frantically attempting to come up with a plan that will let him call Fig and/or Ayda as fast as possible.

“Can I have ice cubes?”

“I thought you didn’t like ice cubes.”

“Mommy likes ice cubes.”

“Yes, she might, but don’t they hurt your mouth?”

Fig and Ayda, through virtue of an extremely complicated ritual Fabian couldn’t even begin to explain, had Oriane two months after he and Riz got Cathilda. It had been a bit more chaotic, what with all of their prospective babysitters split between _two_ babies, but Oriane and Cathilda had practically been raised as siblings, and he knows they think of each other as such. And, because of their closeness, Fabian and Riz regularly trade off on baby duty with Fig and Ayda, meaning that he knows exactly how Oriane will react if she comes into contact with anything frozen, like, say, an ice cube.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She looks sad, all of a sudden, and, okay, Fabian should probably be acting mad with her. But he’s the cool uncle (no matter what Riz and Gorgug say), and he’s also a people pleaser. He learned, too late into this, that the people pleasing only increases when he’s around kids.

“That’s okay. Look, I’ll have some without ice cubes, too.”

Oriane hums happily at that—a little trilling noise she likes to make in the back of her throat that Fabian thinks sounds eerily like a bird call, that, fine, yeah, makes sense—and hops over to their table, sitting down and staring at him until he finishes making the apple juice.

He waits until his back is turned while pouring it to speak up, “So. You know you can’t run away.”

Oriane stays quiet, and Fabian feels his heart crack a little when her happy trills stop.

“I’m gonna have to call your moms.”

“You are a poo poo head,” she says it so fast and so stilted that he has to bite on his tongue not to laugh.

“We can’t say stuff like that, Ori,” he says instead, turning around to look at her. “People who call each other bad names don’t get apple juice.”

“People who run away shouldn’t get apple juice then, either,” she huffs.

“Do you not want it? Is that where we’re going with this?”

“No, no, no, no. I’m sorry, you’re not a poo poo head.”

Fabian sighs and brings their cups over to the table, sitting down across from her heavily. “Next time use a better insult, too. Your momma grew up on a pirate island, you should get fancy with the vernacular. Call me a scurvy dog, then I might give you _two_ apple juices.”

“Okay!” Oriane’s face lights up again. “Scruffy dog.”

“Scurvy.”

“Scurvy dog.”

“Good job!”

Oriane trills again, downing her apple juice in two gulps. “Can I have a cracker?”

“A singular cracker?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You know what, fine.” Fabian pushes himself up and lopes over to their snack cabinet, “What kind? We have wheat, uh, saltine— _What the shit, The Ball?!”_

As Fabian opens the cabinet door, all three and a half feet of Riz comes tumbling out, falling onto him and wiping them both out on the floor. Normally, okay, normally Fabian is fine with Riz sprawled on top of him, but that’s, like, in the context of getting their kisses in, not in the context of _his nearly forty year old husband falling out of a cabinet he should not have been able to fit in._ Especially not when their miscreant niece is (im)patiently waiting at their dining room table for one singular cracker.

“Sorry, sorry,” Riz says, rubbing his head and pulling his glasses off to inspect them.

When Riz had gotten the glasses at thirty five, Fabian had poked him in the face and called him old, and then was left with the universe-stopping knowledge that Riz had actually _always_ had glasses, he just never _wore them_ because he had some hang up about it after a kid in middle school broke them. Now, Fabian tries to compliment him on the glasses whenever he can.

“Don’t climb into our cupboards!” Fabian says, punching Riz on the arm lightly. “Also, don’t make me swear in front of Oriane!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get caught!”

“You, The Ball, are a menace to society. And I would be kissing your face off if we didn’t have two five year olds on our hands.”

Riz flushes, “Speaking of, it was kind of muffled in the cabinet and I didn’t hear—”

_“Got you, Baba!”_ And Fabian is once again knocked flat on his back as yet another small person launches herself atop him.

“Oof, Cathilda, this doesn’t count.”

“It does count, it does count! I won this time, Baba! Dadda, Dadda, I won!”

“I see that, little nut,” Fabian says, thunking his head back onto the ground when it becomes obvious that Cathilda is not going to let Riz get off of him.

“May I join the floor pile?” Oriane asks, from somewhere around Fabian’s stomach, and sometimes she sounds so much like her mom that it’s scary.

“Yes!” Cathilda shrieks, and Riz winces as she screams directly into his ear.

Oriane jumps down on top of them, all pointy horns and feet and elbows and fluttery wings, and Fabian lets himself make one more _oof_ before he wraps his arms around them all, pulling the mass of his husband and daughter and niece even further into his chest.

Cathilda squirms around until she’s by his ear, and whispers, “Can we have ice cream because I won?”

“We just had ice cream,” Fabian whispers back.

“I don’t think this technically counts as a win, there was outside interference,” Riz adds, also hushed.

“I just remembered I don’t like frozen things,” Oriane says at a normal volume.

Cathilda starts giggling, then, which makes Oriane start to laugh, and then Riz is snickering too, and Fabian can’t hold his laughter in anymore and it bursts out of him like a popped bubble. He’s so _warm_ on the floor with his family, and his chest feels light and airy, and The Ball’s head is on his shoulder and his daughter and Oriane are kicking Fabian in the stomach as they laugh, and it’s so _nice,_ it’s so _sweet,_ it’s… it’s home.

Fabian didn’t think he’d ever have this. Hadn’t thought he’d live past twenty, honestly. But here he is, losing his cool on the frankly gross tile of their kitchen floor, and he couldn’t be happier.

But, as Cathilda the Black reminded him again and again when he was a boy, all good things have to come to an end. This one happens to meet its untimely demise when a ring of fire opens up in their living room and a spitting mad Fig and Ayda charge at them.

There’s a lot of yelling, at the beginning. Fabian gets it, he’d be off the walls if Cathilda disappeared too, but an unfair amount of it is directed at _him._ Fine, yeah, okay, maybe not unfair. He probably should have called them immediately instead of getting Ori apple juice. But he was trying to diffuse the situation!

_“That’s not an excuse Fabian!”_

Whatever. It totally is. Totally.

Riz elbows him. Hard.

In the end, though, Fig and Ayda calm down and Oriane stops her blubbery crying and the Aramais Seacaster Gukgaks stop being caught in the middle, and they all sit down at their dining room table and eat crackers. (Oriane has one. Cathilda has four. Riz eats an entire sleeve.)

“So, do we want to get together after school tomorrow?” Fig asks, distractedly fiddling with the bass pick necklace she still always wears.

“Um,” Fabian says, prepared to pull some extraordinary bullshit out of his ass, but Riz just puts a hand over his and he shuts his mouth.

“I think we’re gonna do family stuff again. Busy day for Cathilda, we’re probably all going to be tired.”

“I look forward to a midafternoon nap,” Ayda says, her wings ruffling.

“That’s fine, just wanted to ask…” Fig trails off, lost in thought, and there’s a moment's breath of comfortable silence before she whips her head back to her daughter. “Ana, how _did_ you do it?”

“Do what?” Oriane looks up at her in confusion.

“Run away? It’s an hour and a half walk to get to your uncles’ place.”

“Oh. I just thought really hard,” Ori says, simply, like you can just wind up on the other side of town by _thinking_ really hard.

“Incredible,” Ayda says. “You didn’t even have to learn a spell.”

“I can’t read,” Oriane giggles.

“I can’t read either!” Cathilda pipes up, from where she’s been crushing crackers into their table.

Fabian moves to stop her but Riz is already there, sweeping the crumbs into a napkin and pressing two lock picks into her hands to play with instead, which he’s carried on him at all times since one unfortunate encounter when he was still an active agent of heaven. “And that’s why we’re going to school tomorrow.”

“We could still get private tutors,” Fabian huffs, under his breath, and Riz elbows him again. He’s going to develop a _bruise,_ The Ball, come on.

“Speaking of, we should be leaving,” Ayda says, ruffling her feathers. “Preparations for kindergarten must be made.”

“Babe, I don’t know what there is to _prepare,”_ Fig huffs, running her hand through Oriane’s hair.

“I aim to make extensive notes, Fig, to include in my education plan for Leviathan.”

_“Gah,_ you’re such a good person, I love you,” Fig says and kisses her wife. Oriane makes a face like someone just told her to eat literal garbage.

Fabian can’t help but smile at the way Ayda’s face visibly softens when Fig pulls away from her, at the way her fiery hair flickers with her love. He’s always been… more invested than he cared to admit in his friends’ relationships, and he’s so so proud of both Fig and Ayda for finding each other, for loving each other.

“Alright. Well. Time to leave,” Ayda says to Fabian and Riz. And then, back to Fig, “I wish to kiss you more at home.”

Oriane’s look of disgust deepens, but Fig just laughs, poking Ayda on the cheek, “Yeah, you better.”

“Thank you for returning our daughter to us, it was a very good thing to do,” Ayda says, looking at Fabian.

“Er,” Fabian says, because really the more he’s thinking about it the more he’s realizing how badly he dropped the ball _(ha,_ the ball) on that one.

“Yeah,” Fig crows, in that one teenage tone of voice she never outgrew, “thanks for kidnapping our daughter!”

“Hey, we didn’t—”

“It was my decision to run away, Mommy—”

Fig just winks at them, Fabian guesses she gave Cathilda the bardic inspiration this time, and grabs ahold of Ayda’s hand, the brilliant whites and reds and oranges of fire filling their apartment and then disappearing, leaving just their little three-person family seated at the table once again.

“Well, that was fun,” Riz sighs, tipping his head onto Fabian’s shoulder.

“I thought they were going to kill me,” Fabian says, and the fear in his voice is only _slightly_ exaggerated.

“They got over it!” Cathilda pipes up. “It’s always… always good to talk about your problems.”

“Yes, it is, Cathilda. Did Gorgug tell you that?”

“Yep,” Cathilda beams.

“Remind me to thank him for giving our daughter _some_ sense of a moral compass,” Riz grumbles, but it isn’t mean-hearted.

“Hey!” Fabian protests, “We have plenty of moral compass without _Gorgug.”_

“Really, Fabian? And you weren’t the one just telling Ori to call people ‘scurvy dogs?’”

“That’s _different,_ The Ball. She isn’t our daughter!”

“Not helping your case, Fabian.”

Fabian sticks his tongue out at him.

Riz sticks his tongue out back, although it’s harder because he’s smiling.

Cathilda looks between the two of them and pokes her tongue out too, trying to lick her nose.

Fabian laughs, “Are we hungry? We only ate, like, three hours ago, but it was ice cream, so.”

“We’re bad parents,” Riz shakes his head, still smiling.

Cathilda gives up trying to reach her nose. “No! Ice cream makes you great dads.”

“Aw, thanks, little nut,” Fabian reaches around Riz and smooths a hand over her head.

“Okay. Actually, though, I’m hungry. Also, you smell, Fabian,” Riz says, nose wrinkling up.

“You’re just deflecting because you like it when I’m sweaty.”

“Shut up,” Riz groans, and pushes Fabian’s bicep.

“You guys are gross,” Cathilda says.

“Thanks,” Fabian replies automatically.

“You’re welcome,” Cathilda chirps back.

“Goofballs,” Riz says, pushing himself up from the table. “Why don’t you take a shower, Fabian, while Cathilda and I make dinner?”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Fabian concedes. “Just as long as you make something good.”

“Bacon!” Cathilda exclaims.

“Bacon?” Riz asks. “Okay, we can do bacon and eggs.”

“Yesssssss,” Cathilda hisses, fist pumping in a way she definitely picked up from Ragh.

Fabian shakes his head and takes a shower and Riz burns the eggs a little but it’s okay, they’re still mostly edible (read: they end up taking the Hangman to pick up Halflingish takeaway), and they all collapse on the couch to watch prerecorded episodes of Cathilda’s favorite animated show, despite the fact it does glamorize dragon slaying just a _bit_ too much. Fabian’s happy, even if the nerves about tomorrow are starting to grow in his stomach, starting to hollow out his throat and ring in his ears.

They help Cathilda pick out the next day’s outfit before she goes to sleep, and then they all pile into her, admittedly much too large for a five year old, queen sized bed. Riz curls himself around her on one side, letting her wrap his tail around her hand, and Fabian leans on the other, gently gathering all of her hair into her bonnet and tucking her into the decadently high thread count, elven sheets. And then, as is tradition whenever they do this, Fabian starts to sing.

He’s never been a naturally gifted singer, but he’d loved to belt along to his papa’s sea shanties when he was a boy, head held high against the wind. And, when he’d discovered his elven heritage, he’d grown to love the strange, melodic sounds that characterize their music, too. Usually he creates a mix of the two for Cathilda, weaving bawdy sailor’s songs with melodies that evoke the twinkling of starlight on dew. Sometimes, if he’s feeling up for it, he tries to do some of the traditional goblin songs Riz taught him one time while they were drunk in college. It’s a lot of clicking and hissing and deep notes caught in the back of the throat, so he can only do that when he’s okay with wrecking his voice for the next day. But Riz doesn’t like to sing, gets too shy about it even though holy shit, The Ball, you’re literally so perfect, so Fabian tries to get some goblin songs in his repertoire as often as he can.

Tonight, though, he focuses on the syrupy slow sounds of Kei Lumennura and the wistful, haunting shanties that describe a longing for home and a longing for the sea and a longing for the place where those two things intersect and turn into a beautiful, deadly creature with hair green like seaweed and skin blue and pale.

It isn’t long before Cathilda is yawning sleepily, and then fully passed out in Riz’s arms, and Fabian is just singing to Riz and to the slow and steady rise of Cathilda’s chest as she breathes. Riz blinks over at him, slowly, and starts purring, the steady pulse of it adding to and driving the song along in its quiet, soothing rhythm. Fabian thinks that he could probably fall asleep here, wrapped around the people he loves, but he knows he needs to get up to set his alarm, to get a proper night’s sleep.

“Riz,” he whispers, when the song ends and the only sounds left in the room are their heartbeats and Riz’s purring.

“Hm?” Riz asks, or maybe he doesn’t and he’s just purring louder.

“We need to get up.”

Riz blinks at Fabian, once, and burrows down further into the blankets, head smooshed next to Cathilda’s.

“Babe, come on.” Fabian doesn’t call Riz that often, and never when anyone else could hear him. It’s not that he’s ashamed of it, he’s _married_ to him, but it’s just… some residual adolescent angst that makes him want to keep that kind of pet name their’s, keep it safe and tucked against his chest.

“No,” Riz mumbles, smiling up at him from the other side of their daughter, and Fabian can’t really help but give in to that.

He sighs and takes his hearing aids out, slipping his eye patch off and flicking the light out with a mage hand. He grimaces, slightly, when he realizes he doesn’t have his bonnet, but… oh well, it’ll be fine for one night. He isn’t getting up now, they’re past that point.

“Go to sleep, Fabian,” Riz says, as loud as he dares with Cathilda snoring between them.

“I’m going to, The Ball, don’t worry.” He feels one of Riz’s hands wind it’s way over Cathilda, pulling him down further to the bed before settling on his waist. “That won’t be comfortable for long.”

“Shut up,” Riz mumbles.

“I love you,” Fabian says, because it’s hard not to.

“I love you too.”

Fabian jerks awake the next morning, all four of his limbs burning with pins and needles, as Riz’s tail whacks him in the face. Cathilda and Riz are both fully on top of him, each snoring and drooling onto both of his respective shoulders. Cathilda’s got her arms wrapped around his bicep in a vice grip and Riz is having some sort of dream, ears flicking and tail twitching, slapping Fabian in the face again.

“The B _a_ ll, stop that,” he groans, reaching up and grabbing Riz’s tail before it happens again.

Riz wakes up then too, automatically tensing and trying to punch Fabian in the face. Fabian goes to catch that as well, but he’s still got a Cathilda wrapped around his only free arm, so what actually happens is he swings their sleeping daughter into Riz’s oncoming fist. Luckily, though, Riz still has a six strength, so Cathilda only wakes up with a jostle and a slight tap on the shoulder.

“Hrmgh,” she says intelligently.

“Five more minutes,” Riz mumbles.

“Fine, fine,” Fabian says, letting go of Riz’s tail to pet through his hair instead. “Five more— Wait, _shit.”_

They’re almost late to school. On the first day.

Somehow, they manage to rip into the parking lot five minutes before the final bell, and, okay, maybe Cathilda’s teeth are still not brushed and one of her shoes is just barely velcroed on, but it’s the best they can do. Riz walks her up to the door with an apology for the carpool teacher and a kiss on Cathilda’s head, Fabian waiting at the Hangman because he isn’t entirely sure if they’re allowed to leave sentient vehicles unattended on school property.

Cathilda looks back at him, after Riz hugs her, and waves, smiling so wide he knows she’s forgotten about yesterday’s trepidation.

“Cathilda the Small!” He yells across the parking lot, because they’re already getting disproving looks as it is, “I believe in you!”

“Spring Break!” She yells back, voice happy and confident and ready to start this part of her life.

The woman in the minivan next to him—respect, Fabian never could figure out how to handle one of those—looks at him quizzically through her rolled down windows. He smiles dashingly at her, that’s an eighteen charisma now, babey, and looks back to see his daughter turned around and walking into the building, clutching onto the purple backpack he had embroidered with a curling little ‘C.’

And the adrenaline gives out.

_Master, I must ask if you are alright,_ The Hangman rumbles in his head, engine whirring a little softer as Fabian slumps slightly over him.

“Yes, yes, Hangman, I’m fine. Just—”

“Hey!” Riz bounds back over to them, swinging himself onto the back of The Hangman and wrapping his arms around Fabian’s waist. “Cannot believe we made it.”

_Master…?_ The Hangman grumbles questioningly.

“It’s fine, Hangman. Yes, I know, The Ball, I believe some celebration is in order.” But Fabian’s voice is still just a little shaky, still a little hurt.

“Hey, Fabes, what—?”

“Ahaha, let’s just get home, shall we?” He’s resolutely looking forward but he can feel Riz watching him.

“Sure.”

The ride home is a somber affair. Riz has to leave for work almost immediately and Fabian lets himself dig a little wallow hole in his brain for… wallowing and stuff. It’s only three hours. They’ll even get to have lunch together once she comes home! But it’s also three whole hours without his baby, and he isn’t entirely sure what he’s going to do in his quiet apartment knowing that she isn’t just over at Adaine’s or Fig’s or Gorgug’s or Kristen’s.

He makes it all of two steps inside their front door before Riz is whipping his crystal out, dialing a number with a look of total concentration on his face. Fabian sighs and kicks his shoes off, making a beeline for the couch.

“Yeah, it’s Riz Gukgak… I’m not going to be coming in today… No, no, just, uh, have to stay home… Yeah. I know, sorry, Derik… Yep… Okay, well I’m hanging up now… Nice talking with you.”

Fabian groans from his new home on the couch. “The Ball, seriously. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine, Fabian, really. You’re more important than work.”

“No, no, not that. I meant talking to Derik.”

Riz, who had been moving to sit beside him on the couch, slaps him on the arm. “Hey! I’ve always liked Derik.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Fabian says; memories of the weird, nine year-old breakup between Riz and the aforementioned Derik floating around in his head. He hadn’t _totally_ been to blame, but, well, just mostly. (There had been a lot of shirtless crunches whenever Derik came around, and letters sent to The Ball sprayed with cologne. Plus, the final fight where Riz had refused to move out of his place with Fabian, that had resulted in Fabian waving at Derik’s retreating car from their apartment window.) “Seriously, though. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, Fabian.”

And Fabian knows that Riz has to really love a person to willingly take a break from work for them. Which is why he has to break out the smiles and jokes, elbowing Riz in the side, “Three hours Cathilda-less, whatever shall we do.”

“Oh, shut it,” Riz says, burrowing in next to him. “I was thinking we could put on that trashy elven soap opera you like, maybe see if Kristen can bring us some free ice cream sandwiches, and then scare her away by how mopey we are about our baby growing up.”

“I don’t like _Whispers of the Moon,_ you do!” Fabian says, because if he focuses on that last bit he might just break down right now.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You’re obnoxious, The Ball.”

“You, Fabian, are somehow even worse.”

And the familiar banter makes that hurt feeling ebb once again. They grin at each other, big wide smiles that hurt their cheeks and scrunch up their eyes, and Fabian grabs Riz by the waist, lifting him up and depositing him into his lap.

“Hello, The Ball.” He can’t help but uses his flirty voice, deep and resonating, but Riz’s eyes just crinkle even more and he leans up onto his knees to press his forehead against Fabian’s.

“Hi, Fabian.”

Fabian’s heart is pounding in his chest, and his head is replaying Cathilda’s back turned to him, and his eyes are staring deep, deep into Riz’s, and he’s… and he’s… and he’s… 

Fabian Aramais Seacaster has always held so much love. Love for his papa, his mama, his “maid” and, unfortunately, his stepdad. Love for his friends and his teammates and everyone they care about, too. Love for the parties who welcomed him into their ranks, who trusted him and broke bread with him and had his back in battle. Love for a small green goblin with heart-stoppingly beautiful curls and freckles you can only see if you're pressed right up against his face, who gives everything he has and more for the people he cares about. Love for a little baby who he carried in his arms across half of Spyre, only to bring her home to his Riz and his family and his friends. Love for the girl that baby has become, the woman she someday will be, for the morning braids and the ice cream lunches and the shenanigans in between, for singing and holding onto each other and passing out in a pile in her bed.

Fabian Aramais Seacaster has always loved.

And he always will.

Riz kisses him sweetly, the smell of his aftershave mixing with the coffee on his breath, and Fabian loses himself in it.

When he pulls back, Riz’s ears are pressed fully back against his head and his slitted eyes are big, watching the way Fabian heaves in breath after breath of him.

“You’re a really good dad, Fabian. I hope you know that,” Riz says, whispers, really, because they’re so close together.

Fabian shuts his eyes.

“You are. I feel… I’m so lucky to have this with you.”

Fabian doesn’t cry but he also does and it’s weird because Riz is warm in his lap and his chest feels so soft, like he could reach inside and grab ahold of his heart, pull it out and say _here, Riz, right here, this is where I love you._ But he also misses Cathilda, misses their usual schedule of late mornings and early bedtimes, misses the reassurance of her presence. And it’s almost too good to be true, what Riz is saying. Almost. Because he knows, deep down he knows, that he believes it too.

“I love you, The Ball.” Fabian has to take his hands off of Riz’s hips to make his name sign, because moments of emotional gravitas require both of their primary languages.

“I love you too, Fabian.” Thumb out, pinky and forefinger raised.

And change is okay, sometimes, as long as there are a few things you can count on. Loving Riz and Cathilda… he can always count on that.

**Author's Note:**

> listen riz can call into work like thirty minutes before he's supposed to be there because he's sort of the boss it's fine don't look too closely at it. also, oriane is a sorcerer and that's how she wound up teleporting herself to fabian and riz's apartment using weird baby magic.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! i'm working on a final installment in this series that will be narrated by cathilda and set during her first year at augefort, but no promises on how fast it will get done.
> 
> anyway, again thank you for reading, i hope you have a wonderful day/night and i'm on tumblr at [labelleofbelfastcity](https://labelleofbelfastcity.tumblr.com/) if you want to stop by or talk about this au!!


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